Did you ever live?
by MadClairvoyant
Summary: Or do my eyes deceive me?


He found her sitting in his living room, about five hours after the Order meeting they had in the morning. She had left hurriedly after it, staying only for the most important part.

Someone had come up with the brilliant idea of taking a photo of all of them, and because of that, practically the entire Order was there, even those who were on their missions, making sure to include themselves in the photograph before leaving hastily again. It was a simultaneously joyful and saddening event; Sirius couldn't help but think, how many of them should have been here? And only a month later, how many of them wouldn't be anymore?

It was a frightening thought, knowing that no more than half of them, probably less, would live to see that photograph yellow with age.

He didn't expect to see someone actually cry over it though. Or at least, he thought that she was crying over that. Regardless of what she was crying over, he was still surprised. Feisty Marlene, who always had a smile or jab to spare, wasn't the kind of girl who cried.

Patting her back awkwardly, he spoke, "I think you've had enough to drink." Okay, so maybe it wasn't the best that he could do, but what could a bloke do with a crying girl, let alone a crying, drunk girl?

"I went to see a doctor," the blonde slurred, her speech impeded by the sheer amount of alcohol she must have stolen from his cupboards. Instantly, he got worried. What if she had fallen ill? What if she had gotten a terminal disease? Oh Merlin, what if she died? To survive the Dark Lord and his merry band of cronies, only to die of, of dragon pox or something.

"Are you okay?" he asked anxiously, tempted to put his hand on her forehead to check if she was running a fever. "You really should stop drinking so much-" he was cut off halfway by the girl taking a blind swat at him, mumbling irritably.

"Don't be a prat. I'm not going to die." Sirius was going to breathe out a sigh of relief when she dropped the bombshell of the evening on him. "I just can't have children." He just about winced at the uncomfortable situation, though the blue-eyed girl didn't seem to have noticed. Even when he offered to call one of the other girls over, already preparing to have his miserable flat invaded by a whole horde of teary members of the other gender, she ignored him. Instead, she chose to keep on rambling drunkenly.

"I'm not dying, but I will one day, you know? Like everyone else. And," hiccuping slightly, she paused to recover herself before continuing, "And children are like that little piece of immortality that we leave behind, something to love and cherish and grow up to prove that you really did exist. Now, when I die, no matter if it's ten days or ten years down the road, no thing can prove that I, Marlene McKinnon, had ever lived and loved. I would vanish, like dust in the wind."

"You could have been a poet," he joked, trying to lighten the atmosphere, only to earn himself a smack upside on the head. Sighing at his greatly unappreciated efforts, he gritted his teeth slightly before speaking again, trying not to feel so terribly inept at comforting people, or connecting emotionally.

"Firstly, none of us would ever forget you. Please, you are too much of a nuisance." This garnered a a half hearted snort from her, and encouraged him to continue, however sombre his words were. "And besides, even if we were all dead, there would still be the photograph." Drawing out a copy of the picture that had just been taken that very morning, he pointed out. "Look at you, still grinning like an idiot and waving maniacally!"

Finally, this drew a tight smile from her, but it was enough. Giving her a small smile, he told her softly. "No matter what happens to you, everyone would remember you. This is your little piece of immortality. And you always love people with your too big heart." Hesitating slightly, he added, "Plus, you won't die for a long, long time. Not if we have anything to do with it."

Tilting her head sideways, Marlene finally spoke, sounding a lot more sober despite no change in how intoxicated she was.

"Thank you." Cheekily, she added, "Of course I won't die. How will poor Lily take care of you ruffians? I better outlive you four by more than a hundred years just in case one of you decide to ruin your funerals by coming back to life." This, of course, got her a playful scowl from Sirius. Not that it mattered though.

Two weeks later, nothing mattered for her anymore. And in less than two decades later, there would be nothing left to prove that Marlene McKinnon had once lived and loved, save for a few forgotten newspaper articles, and a letter from one dead friend to another.


End file.
